


if i should die before i wake

by varnes



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, THEY'RE IN LOVE AND I HAVE PROOF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 06:55:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18586081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/varnes/pseuds/varnes
Summary: “Shhhhh,” Gendry muttered without opening his eyes. His hand tightened around her wrist, then loosed again. “I don’t know if you’ve heard but there’s going to be a war tomorrow. You should rest.”“A war?” Arya repeated, lips quirking. “You don’t say.”“A big one,” Gendry confirmed. His eyes opened at last, and glinted at her, soft at the edges. “We’ll probably die.”





	if i should die before i wake

**Author's Note:**

> i don't want to be like "i CALLED IT IN 2011" but i called it in 2011.

She woke early. Gendry still slept, eyelashes casting shadows across his cheeks. He had scars across his shoulders, new ones; Arya supposed that between the two of them, his were more numerous but likely less dangerous in the getting of them. 

Beneath the fur, one of his hands was clasped around her wrist, but loosely, less like he was unwilling to let go and more like he was hoping she would let him stay. Something small and sore turned over in her chest, looking at him. His hair was different and his scars were new but still he looked just the same. He was Gendry. She thought she probably loved him once, maybe still did, if a girl like her was able to love anyone.

“Shhhhh,” Gendry muttered without opening his eyes. His hand tightened around her wrist, then loosed again. “I don’t know if you’ve heard but there’s going to be a war tomorrow. You should rest.” 

“A war?” Arya repeated, lips quirking. “You don’t say.” 

“A big one,” Gendry confirmed. His eyes opened at last, and glinted at her, soft at the edges. “We’ll probably die.”

Without letting herself give it too much thought, Arya shifted closer. She didn’t rest her head on him, though she wanted to, but lined their sides up all the same. He curled his arm around the back of her neck and pulled her in, not tender like a lover but rough and fond, the way he used to when he wanted to ruffle Arry’s mop of hair.

“Well if that’s the case I guess it’s good to have spent ... I mean, it’s good you’re here,” she said, stumbling a little. When he didn’t answer, she added: “Thank you. For ... it was a good way to be alive, before the end.”

“You’re welcome,” he answered, and his voice was rough. “I hope—I’ve heard it can hurt girls, the first time.”

“Lots of things hurt,” Arya said. “Life is mostly pain.”

“But not only,” murmured Gendry, and turned his head to look at her. It was the same look he’d given her many years ago, when he had said  _ you wouldn’t be my family. _ That had hurt, too, in its own way. Pain has many faces. Arya had been wearing them long before she knew she could. 

She thought perhaps there was more to say, that in a different life she would want to extract a promise from him, but this was not a different life, and Arya knew better than to trust a promise, even one earnestly made. Instead, she ran her eyes across his face, and let him see her do it. Gendry hadn’t ever promised her that he would follow her to Winterfell, and yet here he was, regardless. Wasn’t that the greater reward, in the end?

“No,” Arya agreed, and smiled at him. “Not only.”

He drew her closer inward, mouth a soft pressure against the side of her head. “I thought of you,” he admitted. “I mean I—worried. You were so small the last I saw you. And so ... ”

“Naive?”

“Angry. Loud.”

“You thought I would get found out.”

“No. I thought you’d be killed for the same reasons any angry, loud young man gets killed.”

Arya barked out a laugh. “Ah, so you thought I’d annoy the wrong person.”

“You still might.”

“I still might,” she agreed. “I do plan to try.”

Gendry let out a long, beleaguered sigh, the same he had when she’d nudged him with  _ yes you did.  _ She liked that sound. It reminded her of Jon, of Winterfell before everything went to shit. It was a sound that loved her and was irritated by her in equal measure, but which nevertheless promised to err always on the side of love. 

The look on his face was painfully familiar, and softly welcome: his brow was furrowed, mouth a tiny frown, but she could tell that he was nervous mostly by the way his gaze skittered away when she raised her head. He held on to her still, firm and sure, but couldn’t meet her eyes. 

_ Gendry,  _ she thought, with a gentleness she thought had been cut out of her. 

“When it’s over,” she said, surprising herself. “If we live.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I thought you planned to die.”

“I’m not  _ planning  _ to die. It’s just ... very likely, is all. Anyway, I — that’s not the point. If we both live, I want ...”

It had been such a long time since she had thought about what she wanted, outside of the political intrigue she could never seem to unstick her family from. She wanted vengeance, she wanted victory, she wanted her sister not to ever bear the touch of an unwanted man again. She wanted to hear Bran laugh again. She wanted Jon to hold her close and call her  _ sister _ again and again and again.

She wanted Robb. She wanted Rickon. She wanted her father and her mother and her wolf.

She said: “I’m not scared to meet the god of death, but if I don’t, if — if  _ we  _ don’t. I ... ” She trailed off, frustrated with her own inability to put it into words. She didn’t know. She wanted to see him again. To feel something gentle again. She wanted — 

“Can I tell you what I want?” Gendry asked, mercifully. She didn’t answer, but twitched enough of her eyebrow to make him laugh. “I want to know what happened to you. I want you to tell me everything and not leave anything out.”

She winced. “Gendry,” she warned. “It’s an ugly story.”

“Life is mostly ugly,” he answered, voice soft. “But not only. Look how it ends.”

“With us dying?”

“No. That story ends here, like this. Whatever happens tomorrow is another story entirely.”

Arya looked away, hoping he wouldn’t see the way her eyes pricked suddenly. She suspected he did by the way he carefully didn’t make any move to comfort her. She said, “I haven’t told anybody everything.”

“Well then let it be a week of firsts,” Gendry said. “And after you’re finished, I will tell you what happened to me. And after that — I don’t know. Let’s wait and see.”

She let herself turn to look at him. “Okay,” she agreed, and rose to her feet before she could say something stupid, like  _ don’t die _ . There would be no point in extracting that promise. The god of death came even to those who swore he wouldn’t.

_ What do we tell the god of death? _ she thought, offering Gendry a hand up. They watched each other dress, the cold prickling the hair on Arya’s neck. As she pulled on her boots, Gendry reached for his cloak, hesitated for a moment, then wrapped the furs around her shoulders. 

“Winter is coming,” he murmured, quirking his lips. 

“Ours is the fury,” Arya answered, and drew the weapon he had crafted for her. It glinted in the candlelight, sharp as one of his smiles. “I’ll find you.”

Gendry bent down and pressed his forehead to hers. Brushing the backs of his knuckles against her jaw, he said, “I’ll find you first.”

Somewhere in the castle, the horns sounded. 


End file.
